Lunch was corn chips, salsa and "gordo fajitas" (chicken, sausage, philly beef, and cocktail shrimp with a few shreds of bell pepper) at a nearby restaurant. I wasn't impressed. Oversalted, overcooked, and the sausage tasted off. It was also a smoking joint, which further reduced the chances of me going there again.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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I really need to figure out what I'm eating for dinner. Geek's in the field, so I'm flying solo for dinner. I was planning on blue crab, but seafood sound revolting right now. Tomatillo stew sounds good, but the recipe feeds Cox's 5th army.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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I have determined tonight's order of business: I'm having a Debauchery Eviction Party. I'll be the only idiot at the house, but that's beside the point. I hafta get the little tart out of there. I'll make one of my favorite primal meals (TBD), do a yoga DVD or a Science Channel Exercise game (sorta like a drinking game, but different body weight exercises instead of alcohol), and play with the dog.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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So the Debauchery Destroyer meal didn't go quite as planned. Crab andouille frittata is NOT the same as a crab andouille cake. Probably could've used seasoning, too. Worth another try, eventually. It's ok, though, because I filled up on chef taxes of crab and andouille anyways. I think I'll make a pumpkin chocolate mug cake and call it good.Pumpkin chocolate mugcake
1 oz chocolate, chopped + 1/4 oz
1/4c pumpkin puree
1 tbsp butter
1 egg
Nuke chocolate and butter together until it's meltedish. Stir together, and add the pumpkin, then mix in the egg. Top with the reserved bits. Nuke for 1 minute, check for texture (you want souffle like, firm but not dry.) Make sure it doesn't climb out of the mug.

Last edited by naiadknight; 11-14-2012 at 06:43 PM.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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No ,spammer a special occasion is when you and your ilk STAY THE HELL OFF THE GODDAMMED FORUMS!!!

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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So far, I've had a mug of coffee with organic half and half and a mug of half and half with coffee today.
I really like my boss so far. She's pretty cool and understanding. Kinda reminds me of a cross between Mentor and Uncle's girlfriend. (For those that missed the name change, Uncle is the man that was my man of honor. He's been my Dad's best friend since they were in the 4th grade, and they might as be brothers.)
I'm busy, and kept occupied with actual engr work instead of drafting and busy work (this is good, believe it or not.)
I'm looking forward to next week. Any holiday in Dallas where the only projected drama is which meat Dad smokes and how many glasses he breaks when does dishes (he's usually still pretty toasted when he does them) is a good holiday. Beats the hell out of the last several: Gramma bitching about ANY seasoning besides salt and that alcohol was being served (she was a good Southern Baptist), Gramma and Paca commiserating on how my heathen wedding could've been so much better, Paca dragging religion into everything, Dad dragging politics into everything, and Mom stoned off her gourd on antidepressants.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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Tonight was the Odessa Barbecue Blowout. All you eat barbecue and all you can drink beer/ tea/ soda for $30. Best part is that my ticket was free, thanks to my employer. (Geek's would've been, too, if they'd hired me earlier. Mine was originally someone else's who wasn't able to go.) I had ribs and sausage and chicken and stuffed quail and boudin and corn and tea. I'm reasonably certain there was wheat in the stuffed quail; I know there was rice in the quail and boudin; and there was sugar in the sauce on a few of those. I really don't give a fuck. This was a once a year thing and I was fucked if I would pass up stuffed quail or homemade boudin. I would've had beer, too, if it hadn't all been American pisswater (3 kinds of Bud and Michelob.)

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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3 barbecue blowouts, Ruthie? Really? You must be stuffed, from all the SPAM you fucking ate. Go to fucking Alpha Centauri, douche.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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